


pretty little liars

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angry Sex, Angst, Cooking, Crying, Eating, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Hurt/Comfort, Inhumans (Marvel), Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love, Monsters, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Shower Sex, Supportive Relationships, cathartic sex, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both think they're monsters.  They're wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretty little liars

It didn't go the way they planned.

They manage to drag each other, bleeding, to the safe house.  
  
Nothing left now but silent prayers on their lips that they weren't followed by something old and creeping into their consciences like a childhood night terror.  
  
Daisy left a swath of destruction back there, and when the flat seems secure, he catches her expression and draws a ragged breath.  
  
It's like a mirror. Like looking at his own face after Ward.  
  
His own failings are one thing. But _this_.  
  
“I need your help getting my gauntlets off,” she says in frustration, her fingers slipping from the cut along her arm leaking down blood.  
  
He doesn't reply, just moves over to her and starts working quickly, getting her arm out of the field suit, while she tries to hold still.  
  
She wants out of all of it, until she's standing in her tank and underwear, even then looking like it's not enough.  
  
Like she wants to crawl out of her own skin.   
  
“The shower,” he suggests.  
  
“Not yet.” And she shivers. It's shock.

He can’t move.  
  
“Your face is bleeding again.”  
  
As if on cue, blood drips down into his eye from above.  
  
She moves past him to the bathroom, while he wipes it out of his vision, swipes his hand over his field suit, and she comes back with a medkit, sits on the edge of the bed and opens it, starts searching.  
  
“Dammit, Daisy,” he says, sitting down beside her and yanking the kit away. “Just hold still.”  
  
The wound on her arm looks fairly deep. Stitches-deep.  
  
Her shoulders slump and she sits quietly beside while he cleans it, when he feels her go slack against his shoulder.  
  
“Daisy! _Daisy_!”  
  
He checks her pulse but she's passed out. She didn't lose enough blood he thinks, but then he remembers her powers.  
  
He lays her back gently on the bed and looks at her now-untroubled face and coughs out a sob.   
  
Then he shuts it off, concentrating, getting together the tools to do the stitches, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

Maybe it’s better this way.

 

 

 

She wakes and it's to the smell of food and something antiseptic nearby.

Her body is _ravenous_.  
  
Sitting up, she winces a little at her right arm and runs fingers over the bandage to feel out the stitches underneath.  
  
Coulson pops up in her vision in bits and pieces from behind the wall inside the little galley kitchen.  
  
He's concentrating and there are butterfly stitches on his forehead, his shoulder wrapped where the bullet grazed him and nasty burns along his arm where the prosthetic attaches.

She remembers them trying to take his hand. Disable him.  
  
His face looks so hard and haunted, like there's someone else here that doesn't belong. Ward or _It_. Whatever _It_ is. _It_ knew things about them only Ward would know.  And the ATCU's containment pods, making those Inhumans just weak enough to be controlled.  
  
It's not his fault. It's not any of their fault. This is some twisted act of fate.  
  
“Bet you're hungry,” he says, carrying a bowl over to her, setting it on her lap over the blanket.  
  
“Thanks.” She dips the toasted bread into soup and moans the second it hits her mouth.  
  
“Good?” It has a bit of an edge to it when he asks, like he can barely bring himself to say it.  
  
“Yeah,” she answers, frowning a little. “Are you going to join me? I hate eating alone now.”  
  
He nods and goes to the kitchen and brings back a bowl and a couple of spoons.  
  
“Nice idea,” she says taking a spoon. “I was about to start drinking it.”  
  
“I made a lot. Eat as much as you want.”  
  
They do. In silence.

 

 

 

He hears a noise from inside the bathroom, and drops the towel he was using to dry dishes with.  
  
“Daisy?”  
  
She's standing in front of the mirror as he shoves the door open.  
  
There's a crack in it and he looks down at her clenched fist, sees blood on the counter.  
  
“Let me see.”  
  
He grabs her wrist when she doesn't answer and pulls the fist towards him.  
  
“It's just a scratch,” she says, her voice sounding blistered. “You should've seen the other guy, though.”  
  
He gives her a stern look. “I thought you were taking a shower.”  
  
“That was the plan.”  
  
He lets go of her to walk past and turns the bathtub water on abruptly, then sets the shower running.  
  
“There,” he says, frustration coiling in him. “It's warm.”  
  
She steps beside him.  
  
“I don't like to shower alone, either.”  
  
Her fist twists in his tank and she pulls him hard against her. Kissing like she's trying to start a fight.  
  
“This is _not_ happening,” he warns her, but he follows her as she backs a few steps until she's against the bathroom wall.  
  
“Why? Because I'm a monster? Just like that _thing_? It's okay. You can say it. I remember how you looked at me.”  
  
“How I-?” He's trying to work it out, but then decides this isn’t about him at all.  
  
“Have you ever kissed a monster, Phil?”

“No.”  
  
He kisses her hard, pressing her into the wall, and she moans into his mouth, butting herself against him again, like she wants confrontation, bites at his bottom lip.  
  
Not hard enough to break him, though. He doesn't like that.  
  
When he backs off, she comes at him again and uses her training, he knows it, while she flips them, slamming him up against the wall, trapping his wrists under her hands.  
  
“That's more like it,” he gasps, air pressed out of his lungs, trying to put up just enough of a struggle to get to the edge of this, as the steam that’s filling the bathroom starts to feel almost suffocating.

He lets her kiss him again, feels her tongue against his, and he sucks on it over and over, until she molds her body against his.

Sliding his hands up higher along the wall, she slips her fingers between his until her palms are gripping against him.

Now he has some leverage, and he takes the advantage, making her stumble backwards towards the sink, keeping his mouth on hers, listening to her whine as he uses his strong hand to wrestle her for control.

The vibrations start out small, then build until he can’t hold on anymore, and he lets go, giving up with a loud moan, falling forward, pressing his face into her shoulder.

Just trying to catch his breath, his arms feeling like jelly.

“I win,” she breathes into his ear.

He concedes, standing up straight and looks down at the drops of blood on his tank, then pulls it up over his head.

Her eyes flicker down to the scar on his chest, then her fingers jerk him towards her by the string of his sweatpants.  While he tosses his shirt aside, she unties the knot at his waist.

Then he takes over as she watches, sliding the elastic past his hips, freeing his obvious erection, until they fall around his ankles.

“Get in,” she tells him.  He can see her knuckles white against the edge of the counter where she’s holding onto it, wrestling with something.

She shuts her eyes and tips her head towards the shower when he watches for too long.

Pushing the cheap shower curtain aside, he gets into the stream of warm water, feels the sharp sting against the place on his arm where there are burns.

Then she’s there with him, behind him, kissing his shoulders, the nape of his neck as he closes his eyes and tips his chin down to his chest.

Her hands explore his body, and he props one hand up against the tile to keep himself steady, cries out loudly when her hand wraps around his cock.

She’s moving with him, pressing her hips against his, stroking him and rubbing her thumb over the tip as he tries so hard not to come.

He can’t stop it, though, when he feels her teeth on his shoulder, and she bites down hard, hard enough this time to leave a mark, he’s sure.

A yell is forced out of him, then drowned by her turning his face towards her, kissing him deeply as he goes softer in her hand, as her fingers gently touch his hip.

“I’m no good for you. You know that,” he breathes against her.  

He turns around to look at her, watches the water washing over her body.  He’ll have to redo the bandages on her now. 

And he still wants her, even though he has no right to.

“Kiss me,” she demands, wrapping her arm around his neck.  He does, while his fingers slide down between her legs, pressing into her and feeling so guilty at finding her warm and wet.

“Please,” she groans, pushing herself up into his fingers more, bracing herself with one hand against the wall behind her.

Her head tilts back when his thumb makes circles against her clit, and she’s already so close, he can feel her tighten around him as he adds another finger, then puts his prosthetic low on her belly.

She gives a desperate, pitched noise as he eases down onto his knees, pressing his mouth against her, sliding his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes over her clit, feeling her thighs shake around him has he thrusts his fingers up into her.

When she comes, it’s quietly, her hand in his hair, to the sound of the shower as its water runs down his back.

Her shoulders rest against the wall, like she’s relieved. And he looks up at her, knowing who the real monster is.

 

 

She dreams about everything around them moving. Always shifting.

It feels like it’s her fault.  Like she’s at the center of it.

They’re running, or trying to catch up.  She’s not sure.  But they’re never ahead of what’s coming next.

She’s trying to reach for him, wearing her field suit, trying to grasp at his fingers before it changes again and they’re further apart.

He’s in a suit.  She’s in a red dress. He’s wearing field clothes.  Hers are plain.  He’s dressed like he was never SHIELD, and she’s wearing something unrecognizable. 

The distance gets wider, every time.  Like they’re caught in some invisible tide and they can’t fit together like they need to.  The way they used to.  
  
Until it's not a dream when she feels the startling shake, making her awake.

Catching her breath, she opens her eyes, and can’t see him, but she can feel his vibrations, more than anything else in the room, even though everything is moving.  
  
She can't let them find him. Not like this.  Not because of _her_.  Ward can’t have him. Neither can HYDRA. _Never._

She concentrates and the shaking stops.  
  
“You're not a monster.”

She sees faces enter in her mind.  People who were Inhuman because of what she did. That _thing_ taking away everything from them, like they’re just puppets.

They’re all puppets.

She’s sobbing and gives in, lets him pull her tight against his body with his only hand.

The other one was lost, fighting against what she is.  She’s too dangerous, but she couldn’t stay away.  Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?  Let him protect the world from people like her?  
  
“You're not a monster.”

Her hand wraps around his arm and squeezes, as he says it again. 

He says it so many times, she loses track.  
  
As many times as it takes for her to drift back into sleep.

 

 

 

“Daisy?”

He turns over and he’s alone in the bed.  Of course.  He should’ve known this is how it would go.

It’s a feeling before he even confirms it by sight.

The nightstand where his prosthetic lays has a piece of paper folded up next to it, and he hesitates for a moment, then reaches for it.

He slowly unfolds it and sees her handwriting on it, recognizes it immediately.

_Monsters together?_

His heart sinks, and he doesn’t know how he could’ve done any of this differently, only that he should have. 

How he tried, even going it alone, but everything Ward said came true.  He’s supposed to be dead. _Ward_ is supposed to be dead.

Failed his team. Failed so many people.  But most of all, her, he thinks, as he starts to wipe away tears with the heel of his hand.

Then the door clicks and he looks around for his weapon, realizes it’s on the other side of the room.

He reaches for his prosthetic and snaps it on, quickly, as the door opens.

Daisy is standing in the doorway, holding a takeout bag under her arm, two styrofoam cups in her hand, staring back at him.

“Sorry, I don’t do the cooking thing so great,” she continues, turning to shut the door with her hip, and putting the cups down, locking the door behind her.

Something angry wells up in him. “You shouldn’t go out alone like that.  They could’ve-“

“Hey, I’m a professional,” she says dismissively, picking the cups back up. “I raided that motel up the street. Free breakfast buffet, so, don’t get your hopes up.”

He grits his teeth, trying to come down from the adrenaline, as she hands him the warm cup.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she tells him, sitting down beside him on the mattress, putting down the bag.

“What are you doing?” he asks her, picking up her note, tossing it between them on the bed.

She unwraps the bag and takes out a croissant, takes a bite out of it.

“Yeah. We’re monsters.  But, we’re good monsters, right?”

He listens to her slurp her coffee and tries to process it, shuts his eyes.

“Daisy, you can’t possibly think-“

“It wasn’t great. It was _nice_. I’m thinking it could get better,” she shrugs at him. “You try really hard now to pretend it won’t.”

He looks down at the cup of coffee and takes a long sip of it, winces at the taste.

“We need to talk,” he tells her. “Come back to bed.”

“Okay,” she says, standing, putting down the things occupying her hands, then pulls the sweatshirt over her head.

She's naked underneath and he struggles to not spill the coffee cup in his hand.  It’s different now that they’re not both bleeding and choking on self-hatred. 

Morning-soft, just like the light.  He's forgotten all of this.  
  
Taking the cup from him, she sets it down on the nightstand and leans over him, touches her fingertips against his face.  
  
“They've taken enough from us already.  We should keep something for ourselves.”  
  
Her kiss tastes like burnt coffee and stale pastry, and it’s the sweetest thing he's ever had.  He groans into it, desperate.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispers against her lips.

“You keep saying that,” she replies, nuzzling against his face. “I want to believe you.”

“I-“

“Say it, Phil.  Even if you don’t believe it yet.”

“I’m not a monster,” he answers, drawing her against him over the sheets.

She kisses him so slowly, so carefully, he gets lost in it.  Helping her undress the rest of the way, until their bodies are pressed against each other, his hands drawing along her back, arching towards her as she gives him gentle kisses sending him deeper and deeper.

Until he’s inside her, and it’s not like those hours before.  He wants, but it’s a different kind of want.

He wants to believe her.

Her palms press his into the mattress as she slides her hips over his, and he lets himself gaze over her body, and pushes back against her to get his hands free so he can touch her, let his hands cup her breasts and feel her pressing her chest into his palms as his thumbs circle her nipples.

He draws his hands over her ass and pulls her forward until he has her in his mouth, and she moans when he switches to the other, while he pushes his cock into her slow and deep.

“I’m really close,” she groans, planting her hands on his shoulders, until he’s against the mattress again.

She starts working her hips against him getting at the angle she wants, and he’s just begging her to not stop.  He begs, and begs, while she watches him.

“Beautiful.” 

“The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Yes.”

 

 

 

“I wanted to protect you.  I couldn’t even do that.”

She draws his hand against her chest, over her heart.

“I feel protected.”

His fingers reach to her and brush through her hair as they watch each other, everything else forgotten for the moment.


End file.
